Author: Belinda O

When I was nineteen, I broke my wrist at a church camp. It was the middle of winter in California, and the camp was in the Sierras, so there was plenty of snow and ice on the ground. I was dutifully walking out of the chapel, Bible in my right hand, when I slipped and fell on a patch of ice, the full force of my fall landing on my left wrist. It was a gruesome break.

It took an hour to get to the small hospital at the bottom of the mountain, an hour waiting for the doctor on call to show up, an eternity to get the bone set, and another hour back. It was the middle of the night, and being heavily sedated, I slept the whole way. When I woke up, I was in a great deal of pain, and the painkillers they gave me barely touched it.

That was only the beginning of the ordeal with my wrist. It never set right, and the doctor recommended surgery to get it straightened out. My parents were going through divorce then, and somehow my broken wrist was not a priority. Okay, I was not a priority. So I suffered with the pain of the wrist for months before it finally healed in a malformed way. To this day I have bouts of pain with that wrist, where bumps appear and it hurts just to write or type. This isn’t the typical weather-related pain you feel with a broken bone. I get that, too. This is much more severe, and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve been to enough orthopedic surgeons to know that.

Yet I’m grateful, in a way, for this deformity. It has taught me patience and how to push through everyday activities while in pain without complaining. If I’m at work, I do get quiet, and co-workers will sometimes comment on that. I’m honest with them, and I’ll show them the bumps, and that’s usually enough information. They understand. They have their own pain.

It’s also caused me to reflect on how difficult my parent’s divorce was on the whole family. We were fractured, each of us living his or her own life, without much regard for what was happening with the others. I was as guilty of that as the next person. Over the years I’ve reconciled myself to that reality, and it’s given me the freedom to rebuild the relationships that I lost during that time.

The pain in our lives can leave us broken or help make us whole. At least, get us a little closer to whole. I struggle with some of the pain in my life (I’ve written about this before) and I’m still waiting to see how it will help me. But eventually, I’ll make sure it does.

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Image Credits: https://stock.adobe.com/3D person falling ©Anatoly Maslennikov–stock.adobe.com; Pine trees © Mimi Art Smile–stock.adobe.com.

Several years ago, when I was seeing a psychiatrist, he suggested I take a small role in a local theater production to help build confidence.  I thought he was nuts, if for no other reason than there were plenty of true actors and actresses vying for any role in these plays and I didn’t stand a chance against them. Another reason? I had no desire to do this. I wasn’t scared of doing it, I simply didn’t want to.

So I told him no, I wouldn’t do it, and he was shocked. “You mean you won’t do what your psychiatrist asks you do?” he asked. Now it was my turn to be astounded. Was this man’s ego so big he actually thought I would substitute his judgment for mine in any situation? Yes, I went there for help. But no, it didn’t mean I was a puppet.

When I was in high school, I joined a local church who taught us that what was preached from the pulpit was absolute truth and we were headed down a solitary road without God if we didn’t follow those teachings. I eventually left the church, but not before I heard someone praise one of the men in the congregation.

This man didn’t blindly accept anything as gospel truth without testing it first. He knew the Bible better than just about anyone in that church and wasn’t afraid to contradict the pastor if he disagreed with him. But wasn’t a contrary man, he was loving and gracious. He just thought for himself. He wasn’t a puppet.

It was a good lesson for me. I was young and impressionable enough that I struggled with leaving that congregation because I thought it meant I was rejecting God. I later learned one of the great lessons of my life: you can make up your own mind, and you can change your mind. It doesn’t mean you’re always going to be right, but it does mean you’re using the brain God gave you to try to get to know him better. And those are the lessons that stick.

Thinking for yourself can be a challenge if you’re a people-pleaser, which I used to be. I’ve gone through enough in the last twelve years that I no longer care what others think of me. But I’m not a rebel, in fact, I show a lot of respect for others, whether I agree with them or not.

Just don’t tell me to follow you blindly. I’m not a puppet.

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Image Credits: Puppet © ArtFamily–stock.adobe.com; Stack of books–courtesy of Pixabay

I’m going to be visiting my mom next month, and that means a ten-hour drive there–and, of course, a ten-hour drive back. So I’m looking for suggestions for some good audio books.

I’m open to anything, as long as it’s compelling. I should be clear that the audio books would have to be something my local library would have, and while said library has a decent selection, it’s nothing like that of a big city. But a good autobiography or memoir would be a welcome suggestion. If it’s really recent and really good, there might be a waiting list, which doesn’t mean you shouldn’t suggest it, but consider some that are a year or two old as well.

If you’ve read a good autobiography or memoir lately, let me know and I can see if it’s available on audio. Or any other book, for that matter.

Your help is appreciated!!

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Image credits: Ear © nazar12–stock.adobe.com; Car © Doloves–stock.adobe.com